This time his smile broadened. “I have a few stashed in my room. Take what you need.”

The itch drove me insane. Every centimeter of my arms and legs felt as if tiny invisible bugs crawled over my skin. Lamont claimed it was part of healing. If given the choice, I preferred the pain.

Riley visited, but he seemed distracted and never stayed long. I endured another fifty hours as a patient. Finally Lamont released me at hour sixty-two with so many instructions on how to care for my newly healed skin, I almost jumped back into bed. Almost.

“Are you staying with Riley?” Lamont asked as she packed a few meds and a salve into a bag for me.

“No.” I carefully pulled on the shirt and pants she had brought me. The curtains had been closed; otherwise I would have flashed the ISF officers. Logan’s vision had improved, but he still had another week in here at least.

“The barracks?” Surprise laced her voice.

“Don’t worry about it.”

She stopped and pierced me with her doctor stare. “You need to sleep in a clean environment for another week. No pipes or air shafts or—”

“I know.”

Lamont touched my arm. No longer in doctor mode, she said, “Stay in my extra room. No strings attached.”

“What if you find an intern?”

“At this point, it’s highly unlikely, but if I do, then we’ll wheel an extra bed into the sitting room. Once we move to the medical center on one of the new levels, we’ll have plenty of space.”

I considered. “Does no strings mean if I have a gaping wound, you won’t try to stitch it up for me?”

“No. I’m still your doctor. It means I won’t try to…mother you.”

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

She nodded as if I just agreed to take my pills on time and pushed the curtains back.

“Doctor?”

Lamont tightened her grip on the fabric and wouldn’t meet my gaze. “Yes?”

“Thanks.”

I contacted Riley through my microphone. His terse reply indicated he was in the middle of something and would catch up with me later. Heading up to the main Control Room in Quad G4, I planned to fetch those mics from Logan’s room.

The double metal doors failed to hiss open when I approached. Odd. A mechanical voice asked for identification. I said my name and they parted just wide enough for a large ISF officer to poke his head out.

“What do you need?” he asked.

“For you to get out of my way,” I said.

He didn’t move. “Only authorized personnel are allowed in unless you have a reason for being here. I’m sure you understand the need to protect the critical equipment and personnel inside the Control Room.”

Was that a slam? In an icy voice, I asked, “And you’re the protection?”

“Yes. No one gets by me.”

“Uh-huh. Tell Takia I’m here.”

“She’s at a Committee meeting.”

Figures. “Fine. I’ll come back.”

As the door clanged shut, fury simmered in my blood. I understood the need for security, but to prevent me from entering was borderline paranoid. No, not borderline, but outright paranoid. I was the last person the Committee had to worry about.

Or was I? I alone knew about level seventeen, and there weren’t many places I couldn’t get to. Actually there was no place I couldn’t get to. Scanning the hallway as I walked away from the Control Room, I found a perfect heating vent. And the beauty of the heating system was the vents were all close to the floor—easy to access.

I had left my tool belt in our storeroom so long ago it felt like a centiweek instead of a week and a half. In a pinch, the thin flat disks of Jacy’s microphones worked as well. Most of the vents popped on and off, but the ones on the fourth level had screws as well. I wiggled into the shaft and pulled the vent back in place.

Warm air flowed around me as I swam toward the control room—pulling with my arms and pushing with my feet. It was harder to do with regular clothes and a pocket full of mics. Plus my skin burned with the added friction.

The familiar smell and hum reminded me of when I had slept in the heating ducts. Combine that with muscles that had been doing nothing but lie in a bed for the last hundred and thirty hours, and the trip turned into an endurance test.

Finally, I reached the control room. Through the slats of the vents, I saw legs of seated workers and rows of computers. Bypassing them, I found Logan’s rooms. In no time, I popped open the vent and tumbled into his small living area. The Captain had occupied this space when he was on duty but not needed. I imagined problems had been few and far between until Domotor recruited me.

Glad to have room to stretch, I glanced around. No surprise the place was a mess of computer parts, wires and gadgets. It took me longer than I hoped to find his stash of mics. Pocketing them so I was balanced, I debated about returning through the heating system. The bigger air ducts would be easier to navigate, but I would have to climb to the ceiling. My newly healed skin hadn’t liked my recent activities and I doubted I had the strength to scale the wall.

Instead, I walked from Logan’s rooms and through the control center. Most of the workers just nodded a greeting unperturbed. A few seemed surprised. The oversized ISF officer’s glare could have burned a hole in sheet metal. But he didn’t try to stop me.

I waved to him as the doors opened for me to leave. “Guess I should change my name to No One, since no one gets by you.” It was not a mature thing to do, but I never claimed to be an adult. And I never could resist a challenge.